


Ashes and Dreams

by pornclaw



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Gen, im an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornclaw/pseuds/pornclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hurtful hero bitterly reminisces memories that once were sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This happened at like 4am because I like to procrastinate.  
> Anyway, just a 2nd person experiment involving Martin/Champion sadness because I'm garbage and love to feel sad. Champ is gender neutral, no names mentioned, so you get to imagine your own character crying about their statue bf. Also the intro sucks so much?? But please read all of it, I swear i'ts not that bad.

           Martin’s shoulders weighted heavily with his newfound duty. There were days he simply wished to forget, even if for a little moment, that he was Emperor, and pretend that he was merely man again. The Blades could not and would not give him that, and so you did.

            Unlike the Blades, who were sworn to serve the Dragonborn and could not ignore their duty, you were able to see through Martin’s blood and destiny. You saw him not as Martin Septim, heir to the throne and last hope to Tamriel. You saw him as  _just_   _Martin_ , someone captured in the great web of fate; much like yourself. That brought you two close, and he called you “friend”. After a while, he called you something else.

           It was natural for you to take a liking to each other. Natural that it felt like it would be you against all odds, fighting against the evils destiny had sprung, overcoming the crisis unfolding. Natural that when he kissed you, you briefly forgot about the chaos around you, and felt everything was at peace. Natural that when you kissed him, you could feel his entire body relax as he let himself be free and happy for a moment.

           When you spent nights with him, there was no duty to fulfill, no world to be carried on your back. But when morning came, and you opened your eyes, he was not by your side; he was sitting at his table, translating the Xarxes. You knew you’d shortly be gone too; either to find an item he needed for his ritual, or to seek aid for Bruma, or whatever was your responsibility at the time.

           Because duty called. It always called.

           When it did, he carried the world on his back again, concentrated on his translation, and fought valiantly against the ever-present threat of corruption. As for you, you armed and armored yourself, ready to wander Cyrodiil or fight against the vicious daedra.

           But when he was yours, he forgot the world and had eyes only for you; and when you were his, you dedicated body and soul only to him. You untied yourselves from the web, briefly enjoying the moments of freedom that you knew would be gone by morning. Yet, it was those very moments that made it all worth it, gave you a reason to keep going.

* * *

 

           As you look up to the statue, you remember all those times in which you both forgot it all. Fleeting intimacy and love found amidst a crisis you were both tossed in, bound to it against your will. And in the end, it swallowed you both whole.

           You touch the stone hoping to somehow feel the warmth of his skin. Instead, you feel the warmth of Akatosh’s blessing. It stings you deep inside, a heartache that can’t be eased;  _refuses_ to be eased.

           And you weep; for days you weep.

           Days pass, and you try hard to think of something else; try to put your mind at ease. After all, one cannot mourn forever. The folk call you champion, but you think those words are empty and meaningless now. You wander Cyrodiil as you once did, but you find nothing is the same. You drink to forget, but memories are all that’s left of you.

           You ache hard when you remember him; and these days, everything reminds you of him. You try to keep distant, but find yourself always coming back to the colossal statue, always touching it in hopes  _he_ will be there, and always leaving with a blessing that feels like a bitter curse; the taste of ashes and dreams of better days.

 

           One day, you finally leave, never to come back.

 

 

           There is nothing left for you there anymore.


End file.
